It was suffocatingly hot and the kind of inky, velvety dark that is almost tangible. Wearing only a towel, I sat in a small, igloo-shaped hut as the steam swirled upward and a bare-chested shaman shouted at me in the name of Temazcal, a ritual form of Mayan cleansing.
That was five years ago. While I can’t quite say that my life was transformed as a result of my stay at Belmond Maroma, a hotel and spa on Mexico’s Riviera Maya, it was enough to bring me back this summer.
